Phobia
by BrightBlueNinjas
Summary: Everyone's afraid of something.


Germany was the kind of person who could always find something to do. But then again, there always was. What with a war that just ended and a roommate that couldn't tie his shoes.

However, this was one of those days that seem to last one hundred years and he's gotten everything done.

He'd cleaned every room in the house at least once. He walked his dogs. He made lunch for everyone, and just because, he'd even tied Italy's shoes. That sure did make Italy happy.

Then again, it wasn't even five o'clock yet. He'd flipped through the channels and there'd been nothing to watch. He sighed. Maybe he'd finally be able to get some sleep into his schedule. It'd been a while since he'd taken a nap.

Germany had barely closed his eyes when the phone rang. There was a much too loud shout of "CAN YOU GET IT, GERMANY?!" From the next room over, and Germany let out a huff of annoyance as he picked up the phone. "Hello, this is Germany speaking"

"Oh, ok, thank God," the voice sounded slightly muffled, tired. And Italian. And since the only other Italy he knew was still yelling at him ("did you get it?! Did you?!") He could only assume the worst.

"Romano?" Germany asked.

"You know it, bastard," Romano snapped, and Germany rolled his eyes. "Look, you know how I'm moving in down the street?"

"How couldn't I," Germany said. "It's all Italy ever talks about."

"Don't talk about him so casually. It's creepy," Romano grunted. "Anyways, I need . . . I need . . . I need y . . . Y . . ."

"Excuse me?" Germany narrowed his eyes.

"Your h . . . I need your h―he―he―"

"Spit it out already,"

"I need your help, ok?!"

Germany paused. "With what?"

"I . . . I can't . . . C-can't. . ." Romano's voice slowly got quieter, and for a moment, Germany thought he was listening to static.

"I can't understand you," Germany rolled his eyes. "Speak up"

"_I've got a lot of boxes that I can't pick up_!" Romano snapped with enough force to make him flinch. "You're bigger than me! Get your ass over here and unpack them!"

Germany thought for a moment. He really didn't have anything else to do today―unfortunately that meant he didn't have an excuse. "Fine, I'll be over in a bit."

* * *

"No, no! The left, asshat, the left!"

Germany scowled, dragging the couch over to the left. Turns out, he hadn't meant moving boxes into his house. He meant taking them into his house, unpacking all of them, and moving around his furniture.

Four hours, nightfall, and fifteen tomato-themed decorations later, and Germany had missed dinner. Sure, Italy called and promised to have him something―so Romano said. Apparently, he called Romano and the bastard told him that Germany had insisted on finishing the job. One hour later, Romano decided to tell him that because they were "almost done anyway." Asshole.

"There," Germany growled, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. "Are. You. Happy?"

"Actually," Romano pursed his lips, and shook his head. "Move it back to the right."

"Ok, that's it," Germany snapped, walking past him and grabbing his jacket. "I've been here for five hours and I'm sick of being your slave! I'm going home."

"Fine, get out of here!" Romano snapped. "I don't need you, you barely did anything"

"I just unpacked all your stuff!" Germany exclaimed.

"DO YOU SEE THAT COUCH LEANING SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT?!" Romano snapped, pointing angrily at the couch. "You haven't done shit!"

"You ungrateful little―!" Germany snapped, exhaled, and then scowled. "Fine, I suppose I'm done here."

Romano scowled. "I suppose you are."

There was a crash of thunder, and Germany looked out the window and made a face. Rain was coming down in bucketful's―he was going to have to walk home in that. Great.

"Can I borrow your car?" Germany asked, turning to the very origin of all his suffering.

"Oh, hell no," Romano snapped. "You're gonna get your germs all over it!"

Another crash of thunder, and Germany gestured to the rainfall. "Do you see that rain? I live a long ways from here! I'll get soaked!"

"I―I don't care!" Romano said, and Germany could've sworn his voice cracked. "Just―just―just leave! I don't trust you with my car anyways!"

The rain fell in sleets, and Germany huffed. "At least let me borrow your umbrella"

"No!" Romano snapped. His voice was definitely shaking now. "Just―get out, now! Just get out―!"

There was a final bang of thunder cutting through the air, and all of the lights flickered out. Though the lights didn't go out immediately, yet the room seemed to get dark much faster than it should've.

"What happened to the lights . . .?" Germany muttered, and he jumped as something ran into him. He couldn't see much through the dark, but he saw the faint outline of someone holding onto him, burying their face into his shirt.

"Romano?" Germany asked, his tone slightly angry at first, and growing more confused as the sentence progressed. "What . . . Are you doing?"

No response.

"Romano?"

He simply tightened his grip on him, still refusing to show his face. Germany blinked. "Do you have a flashlight?"

As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, Germany saw Romano shake his head faintly, and Germany frowned. "Candles?"

A faint nod was his only response. Germany wondered how he was going to move. He tried to push him away, and he went straight back to hugging him. He pushed him a second time; and he came back. It was an extremely tiring cycle of complete stupidity.

Germany sighed and pushed him off a third time, this time grabbing his hand before he could grab onto him. "I'm here, ok?"

Romano didn't say anything in response, but Germany could feel him tightening his grip on his hand. For someone who was the embodiment of Satan, his hands were warm. His fingers intertwined with his perfectly, clutching onto him tightly. Germany wondered what exactly his deal was.

"Where're the candles?" Germany asked, and Romano muttered something that sounded somewhat like the word "living room."

Feeling the walls, Germany slowly made his way to the living room, looking along the many shelves for anything that looked even remotely like a candle. All the while, Romano hadn't let go of his hand. Funny, Germany figured he would've let go out of disgust by now.

"Aha," Germany muttered, finding the fireplace in the center of the room. This was a hell of a lot better than candles.

He reached into one of his pockets―he knew he'd taken Prussia's lighter away from him earlier. Damn idiot was smoking. Germany had caught him, yelled at him for a good ten minutes, and then taken his lighter. Good thing he did.

It took him a couple of tries, but eventually a small flame jumped from the lighter. Romano flinched because of the new light source, and Germany lit the fireplace.

As soon as the room was filled with light, Romano let go of his hand and scooted at least a foot away from him. He didn't look away from the fire, and he refused to meet Germany's eyes.

'This is so awkward,' Germany thought with a groan. What was wrong with him? One minute, he was yelling at him to go away. The next, he wasn't letting him go.

Germany sighed. "Are you ok?"

Romano nodded. "Get lost"

"I'm only trying to help you," Germany sneered. "You could be a bit nicer."

Romano didn't answer―silence, another thing that should've been foreign to him. Germany stared at him for a bit longer, and then exhaled.

"You know . . ." He leaned back on his hands. "It's, uh . . . It's ok to be scared of thunder."

Romano stared at him, and then scowled. "I'm not scared of thunder, you dumbass"

"Then what are you scared of?" Germany asked. For a good long while, Romano didn't answer. He just watched as the flames jumped in the fireplace.

A good number of minutes were killed with silence, and just as Germany was about to get up and leave, Romano spoke. "When . . . When I was little . . . My grandpa and Italy liked to go Venice to paint and stuff. I . . . I was never really into any of that art crap and it was a really long trip from Rome to there so . . . So grandpa let me stay home . . ."

Germany gestured for him to go on, and Romano's eyes didn't leave the fireplace. "Everything was fine until nighttime came along. It . . . It sounds stupid but . . . I couldn't light any of the candles. I was eight and I didn't want to burn myself so . . . I just . . . I sat there in the dark."

"All by yourself?" Germany asked.

Romano gave a faint nod. "When they came back I . . . I couldn't tell them that I was scared. They already had enough reasons not to like me, and I didn't want to look like a wimp in front of grandpa. So . . . He kept leaving me alone because he thought I was ok with it."

The two sat in silence for a bit, until Germany spoke. "So . . . You're scared of the dark."

Romano scowled. "Shut up."

"No, no!" Germany said, trying his best to think of the right thing to say. "It's perfectly normal to be scared of something like that."

"Yeah, if you're six," Romano muttered. Germany shrugged. He wasn't wrong.

Germany sighed. "It's not your fault, fear is perfectly normal―"

"See, see?! That's why I don't like telling people!" Romano snapped, averting his eyes from the light of the fire. "You all say the same damn thing: 'It's normal, it's normal! Fear is normal!' Well, I don't want to hear it! So think of something else to say or shut your face―!"

"Ok, fine," Germany growled. "You want the truth? It's obvious that you've been traumatized because of the stupidest decision I've ever heard in my life! You can't just leave an eight year old home all by himself! That's common sense!"

Romano simply stared at him, and the two boys were once again stuck in an awkward period of time. In all honesty, Romano had never meant to yell at Germany, and Germany had never meant to yell back. It seemed like this sort of thing always happened with those two, even if they weren't fighting.

"You, uh . . ." Romano swallowed. "You seem to have some pretty strong opinions about that . . ."

Germany sighed. Well, as long as they were confessing. "Prussia went to war a lot when I was a kid. I was home alone a lot."

"And . . . Are you . . .?"

"No, I'm not scared of the dark. I just . . . I got these nightmares all the time. I would wake up terrified and all alone."

Romano suddenly seemed to find his socks very interesting. "And you never told him because you didn't want him to think less of you, right?"

"To this day he doesn't know," Germany admitted. For the next small period of time, the only sound that could be heard was the fire popping and crackling.

That is, until Romano muttered. "We're kind of alike, aren't we?"

"I guess," Germany shrugged. "If you count childhood trauma has a similarity, then yeah, we're one in the same."

Romano let out a noise, and for a moment, Germany thought he'd coughed. It took him a moment to realize that he'd laughed. "That . . . That's funny."

"Thanks," Germany said, and Romano sighed.

"I just . . . I don't want to be alone," Romano murmured. "Could you . . . Stay? You can leave in the morning, I swear, I just don't want to be alone right now."

Germany thought for a moment. He didn't like Romano―not even in the slightest. But this didn't seem like the foul-mouthed southern Italy that he knew. This was a frightened person who'd poured out their fears to them.

Anyone can tell you what they love, anyone can tell you what they hate, and anyone can tell you their secrets. The most important thing is admitting your fears. Telling someone you're weaknesses and therefore making yourself vulnerable to them. That was real trust, and Romano had done exactly that.

Now that he knew, Germany knew in his heart that he couldn't abandon him. He wouldn't leave anyone in their worst nightmare, not even his worst enemy. At least, he wouldn't leave them alone.

"I'll stay," Germany nodded, and offered him a smile. "You don't have to be afraid."

Romano muttered, and Germany raised an eyebrow. That very well could've been some sort of Italian insult. "What was that?"

"I . . . I said . . . I said 'thank you,'" Romano muttered.

Germany's eyes widened a bit, and he nodded. "You're welcome."

"You tell anyone about anything that happened just now or anything I told you," Romano scowled. "And I swear to god, I will literally skin you alive."

This time, it was Germany's turn to laugh. "I wouldn't dream of it."

* * *

_**For all your fluffy GerMano needs. **_

_**In Shades of Blue,**_

_**Ninja **_


End file.
